


That Which Feels Right

by o0kaymawn0o



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Incest, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Barebacking, Biting, Bottom Sam, Brother Feels, Brother/Brother Incest, Dominant Dean, Dominant Sam, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Incest, Kissing, M/M, Making Love, Marking, Online Dating, Passion, Stanford University, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform, repressed feelings, self prep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0kaymawn0o/pseuds/o0kaymawn0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's been talking to this stranger, who he calls: AC/DC. They don't know each other's real name. They have no idea what the other looks like. But the revelation is quite the surprise. Was it meant to happen, to unravel those repressed feelings? How are the brothers going to react when they realize that they've been secretly flirting with their sibling?</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Which Feels Right

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [<授权翻译> That Which Feels Right / 我心归处 by o0kaymawn0o](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1999302) by [sunshinedark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinedark/pseuds/sunshinedark)



> I don't know how long I planned for this to be... But yeah, it feels right! :D This is inspired by a conversation I had with one of my best friends. She told me about an event in her lift happening right now, and it had my mind starting a riot. ;)

Sam loves being away from home and working on his future, actually making something for himself. Leaving hunting behind has been one of the best decisions of his life. He doesn’t regret it at all. If anything, the only thing he regrets about getting out of there is not being able to see Dean, his older brother.

Especially when they were younger, the two of them were stuck together like glue. Whenever they didn’t have to be apart, they were there, side by side, or sat on the couch together. Sam figures it’s because they’ve grown up differently to most brothers, and so they developed a dependency on each other.

Sam’s slightly better at having his own freedom, while Dean can’t seem to stand having Sam out of his sight for more than a few moments. They both know that Dean is a hunter, born and bred. It’s in his blood, and he will never give it up. And yet, when opportunities come up and Sam can’t tag along, the hesitance is so evident in his face.

It’s been seven months since Sam left that world in his dust. He’s made some friends here. They don’t really mean anything to him. They’re like the people that he used to meet on hunts. He flashes them the puppy-look, and suddenly they’re fawning over him—following each word he says as if it were spoken by a prophet.

A chuckle escapes him without realization dawning. He’s been studying for an exam for a few hours. It doesn’t take much for the past to crawl its way into his mind, though. Sam likes to think of it as just procrastination. Clearly, he knows why the thoughts continue to linger on the edge of his subconscious. He prefers to believe that he has more control of his emotions than that.

Even still, he can’t help snickering at the times clients would open their doors to two handsome men, all fresh—faced, with individually beautiful smiles that have the ability to render people speechless. Dean’s approach could come across impatient and brash. That’s the problem. Whereas Sam has a subtle way of dealing with things, and manages to reel them in with a few looks, along with well-timed eye contact.

Dean would tease his younger brother afterwards. Dropping some comment about how he’s not sure if his memory is missing a few pieces, referring to Sam’s skill of putting these poor saps under some spell with just one look. Then he would carry on to question if Sam were secretly a witch.

Smiling to himself, pen lid situated between his teeth, Sam turns the next page of the book, trailing his eyes to the top. He’s bored. Although he enjoys all that which he studies, he can’t seem to place himself in that mood tonight. It could have something to do with this guy Sam’s been chatting to over the internet. He told himself at first it would just be for fun. This man has him weak at the knees with _text._ Sam only the other day was straining in his jeans after a ten minute back and forth with the stranger…

It was intense.

They’ve never seen each other. They’ve never even described each other. Merely suggested they imagine whatever appeals to them the most. Sam’s not a pushover, though. He likes to think that he’s had the guy stiff in his pants all the same, with cheeky pictures of private areas posted here and there. Usually, Sam resorts to that when he feels like he’s the only one frothing at the mouth.

But this guy appears to have great composure. He’ll stop typing whatever it is. Think for a second, then say what he _wants to do to Sam._ It isn’t fair. Sam has roommates, so when he has to physically shut himself up while he’s reading the very detailed descriptions of exactly what this _stranger_ wants to _do_ to him, it’s _hard._ In more ways than one.

Sam’s cheeks burn, his teeth cracking the plastic surrounding the pen. He needs to meet this man. The promises exchanged. Just… He can’t _not_ meet him at some point in his life. Realistically, Sam wants to be a tease—show him that he’s not all mile-long legs and cute dimples. He knows how to work it and have guys _begging._

_Speak of the devil…_

Okay, so he caved at some point and gave the guy his number. Not his real phone. Just one that he picked up when he got to Stanford. He wanted at least one device that Dean couldn’t get ahold of him. _Just one._

Unlocking his phone, Sam checks the message.

_Hey, Stanford. ;)_

A nickname that quickly stuck. They don’t have any idea what each other’s names are. This is all they have.

_What’s up, AC/DC?_

Yeah, Sam’s not that great with the whole nicknames thing. But this guy used a line from one of their songs, which reminded Sam of his older brother, and in retrospect gave him the creeps for several beats. After that, though, the nickname stuck.

_My dick. Wish it was someplace tight._

Sam shudders, breathing long and deep.

_Your hand not good enough?_

_It does the job, but your mouth would do a better one. So moist and sliding along my dick. Just imagine it, Stanford._

_We’ve been through this before. Not gonna be that easy._

_Touché. Though I think you’re full of crap, and I could have you bent over the nearest surface in under five minutes. Your tight, pink hole winking at me, just waiting for me to fill you up nice and good._

Sam throws his phone away, shifting uncomfortably on his bed. Jesus Christ, did this guy write the book on dirty talk? How’s he supposed to beat that?

He retrieves the device and thumbs a reply.

_What makes you so sure I’m gonna be the one taking?_

That ought to make him think.

Apparently not.

_Even if you’re a top, I’m pretty confident I can get you on your hands and knees. If you are a top, you’re definitely hiding some repressed feelings for being dominated, told what to do, shoved to the ground and pounded until you come all over the floor, without a single stroke to your cock. Or were those pictures of your hole just for show, Stanford?_

AC/DC has a point. Doesn’t make it any less irritating that this dude’s composure is off the charts. Sam fails to reply. He can’t think of anything to say other than for the stranger to get his ass over here now and do what he just said.

His phone buzzes again. Deaf hands reach for the cell, checking the new message and reading cautiously.

_I’m not a very patient guy, Stanford. And as fun as it is to go wild with my imagination, I want the cherry on the top of the pie now. So, there a bar around your campus?_

Sam has a decision to make. He could go with his dick or his common sense. Right now, his sexual desires are winning the battle without much of a fight. He still needs to think about this. If it turns out that this guy is just a whacko, he’s pretty sure he can fight him off without much of a problem. He’s tough—he had a great teacher. Dean was always ruthless when they sparred. Some of the positions they ended up in could have been avoided, maybe…

Nevertheless, he taught Sam everything that he knows now. Experience boils in his body, and he has the sense, as well as the awareness to keep on his toes. Maybe he’s contemplating this too much? He could just _go_ for it and see what happens? The pros far outweigh the cons in this situation. Plus, he feels like he _has_ to meet this guy.

He could even use this against him. After all, AC/DC is the one giving in first… Even if the same sort of message has been on the tip of Sam’s thumbs for weeks now. Not that that makes a difference, obviously.

Or he could play this cool, pretend that he has lots of stuff on next week—make him suffer?

_There’s a bar. Not sure if I’ll be there._

_You’re playing with fire, Stanford._

_I said not sure. It isn’t set in stone._

_So your plan is to see if I show up every night?_

_Maybe…_

_You think I’m that desperate and you’re that worth it?_

_Who knows?_

_I could have been laid thirty times since I started talking to you. I turned them all down because I want to come so hard in your ass that you’re still leaking me the next morning._

Thirty times? That’s _a lot._ If he isn’t bullshitting right now, then this guy has to be very good looking to rack up such a number and so many people’s interests. And God damn… Why does that turn him on so much? It’s not even possible. The come would dry up in his rectum, but the very thought is arousing to him…

_If you’re willing to wait that long, then you can take as many guesses as you want. If you come up to me and say AC/DC, I’ll respond. ;)_

_Sweetheart, you’re gonna see the hottest guy in the room and fall to your knees._

_You’re so cocky._

_With a reputation like mine, I’d be stupid not to be._

_We’ll see about this reputation of yours._

_You’ll see it, feel it, receive it and be filled with it._

_Classy._

_Don’t act like you aren’t turned on right now, Stanford._

_Please. You’re the only one with a hard on._

_Game on, bitch. Check your emails in five minutes._

Sam stares at the phone. Is AC/DC going to send him a picture of himself to shut him up? As far as he remembers, Sam’s been the only one that’s sent pictures. Purely because he couldn’t hold his own with the dirty talk most of the time.

What’s he sending? Sam has to wonder. It could be his face, or something else. Sam’s not sure, but he’s very anxious. Something about not knowing what this man looks like made all of this so much more entertaining… He’s can’t be positive that seeing him won’t ruin the fantasy.

Five minutes pass, and on cue Sam checks his emails. The caption says: _Tell me you aren’t hard after this._ Swallowing, Sam opens the email and downloads the seven attachments. His eyes go wide at the first one, a long, thick cock held in a strong looking hand—veins bulging and mushroom head leaking heavy amounts of pre-come. Sam’s dick jumps. He was already hard before these emails. He’s not going to be able to sleep tonight with these thoughts plaguing his mind. And daydreams. If he does get to sleep, his dreams are going to be dominated by these photos.

He scrolls through them, admiring the muscle definition, ripped abs, tight skin and tanned flesh stretched over flexing muscles. Sam’s jeans are now uncomfortably tight. He wants them off. He wants nothing more than to beat off right here and come all over himself to the thought of _that_ cock pounding into him with abandon.

Why does he have to have roommates? Couldn’t they have just given him a single room, so he can meet this guy, bring him back to campus and screw his brains out? AC/DC isn’t going to have all the fun. Sam’s going to work that dick until it can’t take no more and he’s pleading for Sam to let him come!

Well, that would be fun. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to get a word in edgeways. This stranger seems so in control all the time. And yes, Sam loves that. Can’t wait to experience it. But he also likes to show his stuff…

_Tell me you aren’t hard._

Sam doesn’t reply.

* * *

 

His stomach is off the wall crazy when he turns up at the local bar next to the campus. Eventually, he agreed to showing up. They would have to find each other somehow. They’ll text or something, confirm that either one is them.

Sam takes a deep breath to relax himself. It doesn’t work. Not at all. The sentiment is there. Sam loosens his shoulders, entering the bar. He’s been here before, so they won’t ID him. They also took a shining to him because he had been the only one being responsible that night when all of his friends got kicked out of the bar for drinking too much. He apologized on their behalf, promised to get them home safe, and left without saying anything else.

The next time he showed up at the bar, however, the staff were nicer to him. Also, he got some discounts on his drinks. They mentioned that he can handle himself, plus he’s sensible. He had chatted with them for a while. In time, he learned all of their names. They were interesting people. He’s on first name basis with all of them now.

As soon as the door closes, he locates one of the staff, casually talking to them as he orders a beer, settling into a stool and observing the potential around the bar. There aren’t any guys that make his eyes pop out of his head, so he assumes that AC/DC isn’t here yet. They never set a time, just a date. So Sam doesn’t know how long he’ll be here before the other man turns up.

“Sammy?”

Sam swivels on the stool, recognition apparent in his hazel eyes. “Dean?” What’s his brother doing on campus? He hasn’t visited him since the last time he’d been passing through for a hunt. He turns the rest of the way when Dean takes the seat next to Sam, ordering the same brand of beer he always does.

This is certainly a change of events. What’s Sam supposed to do now if AC/DC shows up? Dean isn’t good around new people. And whenever they’re in the same room together, all of Sam’s attention has to be on him…

What’s he going to say? _Dean, it’s great to see you, but this guy is gonna rock my world. So, you understand why I can’t stay, right?_ Yeah, like that’ll blow over well. No, he couldn’t stipulate to that. Dean would never in a million years go for it, and he’d never let Sam live it down.

“So, what are you doing here?” Sam asks.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, scanning the bar for a few beats. “I was driving through, and stopped at a motel for the night. Needed a break and came here for a drink,” he half-lies, knowing exactly where to look so he doesn’t get Sam thinking.

Sam nods his head, pouting.

“What about you? Shouldn’t you be studying? Some exam or whatever?”

Predictably, Sam latches on to the tone of voice that says that Dean really didn’t want him to be here right now. Which surprises Sam. Often, Dean’s the one on Sam’s heels. This whole shifty-eyed, why is Sam here attitude is something that he’s never witnessed before. Not in his entire life.

“I’ve got it in the bag,” he mumbles, watching his brother’s face.

“Yeah? That’s good,” Dean replies, distracted by his phone. He’s twiddling it around his right hand, staring at the screen like it’s the answer to everything. He ignores Sam’s response, tapping something on the device before sliding it back in his pocket.

Just then, Sam’s cell vibrates against his leg. Dragging it out, he checks the message. A smile creeps on to his face when he reads it.

_Where are you, Stanford?_

Sam thumbs a reply, not paying any attention. Dean half watches his little brother grin as he presses the screen on his phone. A phone that Dean’s never seen before. Which is odd. Dean has every single one of Sam’s numbers, and he knows what each phone looks like. This one is unfamiliar.

A few seconds after Sam finishes texting whoever, Dean’s phone buzzes. He checks it. Really stares at it. Really _stares_ at Sam. Really _stares_ at the seats all around him.

_At the bar. ;)_

This isn’t happening, right? It can’t be… Just. No. That’s—no freaking way.

Dean runs a hand down his face, scratching his stubble. He glares at the side of Sam’s head as he presses the call button for _Stanford’s_ number. He waits patiently to be put through to the dial tone. The first ring sounds, his brother reacting immediately.

Sam observes the flash on his phone. This is odd. AC/DC’s never called him before. He presses the reject button. He doesn’t want to talk over the phone, he just wants to meet this guy. Now if he would haul ass, this day could take a great turn.

Dean death-glares the device in his hand, then turns it on Sam.

“Are you freaking kidding me, Sam?”

The tone of voice from his brother demands Sam’s focus, and so he glances over, flinching at the irritation in Dean’s features. It’s completely riddled all over his body at the same time. They can read each other like books. And it’s not hard to tell that Dean is not happy in this moment. Not. At. All.

“You’re Stanford?”

Sam’s eyes widen in fear and shock. What the hell? Did Dean just say that? What does that mean? Did he somehow find out that he’s been chatting to some guy on the internet? There’s no way… Dean’s not that great with computers. Teaching him how to use one was close to teaching an O.A.P.

There has to be something else to this? Something that Sam isn’t picking up on.

“Thirty times, Sammy! Thirty freaking times! And it’s you?”

Sam jumps on his stool. “You’re AC/DC?” He’s incredulous. There’s nothing else going through his mind but disbelief. This cannot be happening to him. How humiliating. He sent… What the… No.

“Yes, Sherlock. I thought there was a possibility of running in to you when I came here, but I didn’t think you’d be the freaking guy I was planning to nail.”

“Seriously, Dean? Right in public.”

“It could have been in public. I wouldn’t have—“

Sam cuts him off. “Not what I was referring to, idiot,” he snaps.

 

 

Dean’s eyebrow arches. His little brother looks so tense now. Not that he can blame him. He’s sort of feeling it in his seat right now. Honestly, he’s been looking forward to this all week. Every time he’s left in the silence of a motel room, his mind would linger to _Stanford._ Dean’s never come across someone like him. So willing to tease back. Some of the things he says don’t really make sense. Dean can tell without a doubt that he’s grasping at straws to find something to match up to Dean’s intoxicating descriptions.

Not that he ever could, which Dean likes. He loves that he could have Stanford on the edge of his seat through text alone. But now it’s all ruined. _Stanford_ turns out to be his younger brother, Sam. His younger brother who he hasn’t seen for a long time. He kind of wants to hug him, while simultaneously wanting to just get up and walk away.

“Well, my plans are ruined,” he grumbles half-heartedly. Dean doesn’t like the fear in his brother’s eyes. As if Dean’ll think he’s a freak for all the things they said and sent to each other. None of that matters to him. He’s just as much to blame.

When he text _Stanford,_ sometimes he did feel as though he were talking to Sammy. The things he would say were similar to the language they were brought up with. For example, when they were teasing each other about who would give in first, Dean sent a confident and smug reply. _Stanford_ wrote back that he didn’t have a snowballs chance.

Snowball’s something he got from their uncle Bobby. So when he read it, he had to wonder for a moment where _Stanford_ could have heard that expression. It’s rare that he hears anyone outside the family using it.

“Come on, Sammy… Don’t look so disappointed. You’re hurting my feelings,” Dean lies. He understands why Sam’s staring off into the distance. Hell, he should be, too. Though, this isn’t completely new to him. Not really. The second _Stanford_ used that expression, Dean couldn’t stop imagining his little brother whenever he fantasized about _Stanford._

Then again, that’s not completely new to him, _either…_

“Fuck it,” he gripes, turning Sam to face him. “Look, we’re not exactly picturesque brothers here. And I’m not gonna lie to you. This is already messed up as it is. Nothing said now even matters anymore. So, listen, okay, Sammy?” When his brother gives a weak nod, Dean levels himself then starts to explain. “I didn’t know you were _Stanford._ I really didn’t. But when you messaged saying that I didn’t have a snowballs chance… Ever since then, the image of _Stanford_ became you. And yeah, that’s weird. Of course it is. But I don’t care. You’ve had me rock hard for weeks and I’ve never come harder, so why don’t you say we just do this?”

Sam’s face is incredulous. “Do _what,_ Dean?”

In spite of the situation, Dean smirks. He puts his best seduction face on and leans in close to Sam’s ear. “What we’ve been wanting to do for the past weeks. Tell me that I’ve never once been in your fantasies. If you can, I’ll walk away, and forget that this _ever_ happened.” He accentuates the last line, pressing his hand against Sam’s thigh, allowing it to linger for just the right amount of time.

He hears the catch in Sam’s throat, driving more confidence into his grin. There’s no way that can mean anything other than a yes. That Sammy has thought about him in that way before. Not that he wants to admit it, obviously.

“AC/DC. When you texted one of those lines… It made me think of you. So, yeah. Maybe you have come up a few times.” Sam’s surprised with himself. How was he able to say that sentence without choking on each word? What the hell is going on? Is this some sort of dream? If it is, it’s messed up…

“Then that’s all I need, _Stanford,_ ” Dean practically purrs, sliding off the stool and heading for the exit, expecting Sam to follow him. Sam leaves a couple of bills on the bar and takes off after his older brother, falling into step with him.

“Dean, this is wrong,” he protests.

Dean casts a quick glance, looks his brother up and down then smirks. “Oh, right now, I really don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“Not even a little.”

Sam slows his steps. “Why?”

“I’ve wanted to screw you since you were sixteen. I’m excited. Sue me.”

This… How can he be so…. So _calm?_ He’s not bothered at all. His walk is confident, his face is something else. Completely ecstatic. Creepy, almost. How does this even happen? They’re brothers, and yet they want to go at it like rabbits? And if that picture was Dean’s cock, well _good_ for him. But this is still so messed up and weird. Why is he still following?

“Dean, this is crazy. _You’re crazy.”_

Dean doesn’t even look at him as he replies. “Bitch, you’re still following me, so just shut up and let it happen.”

“That what you say to all your dates?”

“Sweetheart, you’re not a date. Once we go here, there ain’t no coming back from it.”

Sam has to wonder what the older man means by such a broad statement. Dean’s shoulders tense, his face twitching in anger. Just a second ago, he was grinning like the cat that caught the canary—how can he switch from that to _that_ in under a second?

“No, definitely not. No coming back. After this, we’re together. I’ll probably be frequenting your campus a lot more,” Dean announces, turning a corner, his smirk returning when he notices that the motel isn’t too far now.

“How can you be so calm?”

“I am AC/DC, remember? Besides, I have a few years on you. I’m not some horny teenager, Sammy. I’m a _man._ ”

The drop in Dean’s tone as he clarifies he’s indeed a man almost has Sam keening and dropping to the floor. What is wrong with him? What is wrong with Dean? What the hell is _wrong_ with them?

Since when is it okay for brothers to screw?

It isn’t.

Not as far as Sam’s aware.

Yes, Dean is a very attractive man. No one can deny that. Straight, bi, lesbian, gay, male, female. Doesn’t matter. They have to at least appreciate the looks that his older brother possesses. And yeah, Sam’s not so bad himself. But Dean just gets better looking year after year after year.

Sam can remember wishing that he looked like Dean for a long time when he was younger. Now, though, he knows that he’s hot stuff. He’s had enough people tell him, and he has enough experience under his belt to justify that.

The way Dean’s handling this, however, is completely unnatural. He finds out that he’s entered Sam’s mind a few times in a sexual way, and suddenly his confidence is through the roof—he looks ready to slam into Sam in any location. Sam doesn’t even think Dean’ll care if people were watching.

“I’m not gonna be able to manage slow, Sammy, so I hope you’re prepared.”

Holy… Why does this have him drooling? He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, hopeful that Dean didn’t catch him. He’s confident that he failed to, as there’s no change in his stance at all, and he isn’t cracking some joke, plus his lips aren’t stretching any wider.

“You better have lube then,” he mumbles, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Dean grins, opening the door to the motel. He smiles at the lady at the counter, disappearing up the stairs with Sam following. When the door to Dean’s motel room came to a close, the atmosphere changed.

Sam doesn’t have a chance to say anything before Dean pushes him onto the bed, laying over him, hard teeth finding his neck, leaving bites on the right side, licking a trail down to Sam’s collarbone. Dean’s hands pull at Sam’s jacket, momentarily pulling the younger man up by his collar, ripping the coat from Sam’s body. He chucks it to the floor, grinning manically as he tears open Sam’s shirt. Buttons fly all over the bed, Dean’s rough palms pressing against the cool skin.

Shifting under the weight, Sam cranes his neck, eyes dropping to Dean’s lips, wondering how they might taste… How his brother kisses—does he lead, does he dominate, or is he passionate? There’s every possibility.

“Dean, this is—“

“ _Shut up._ I don’t care. I _want_ this. You _want_ this. So let’s just do it and not care about the consequences, huh, Sammy?” They both stare into each other’s eyes for a long time. Then, as if the message has been passed to him through that one look, Dean presses his lips against Sam’s.

It’s not soft.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not sweet.

But it is _passionate…_

And hungry.

Dean bites Sam’s bottom lip, growling as the mouth he’s been dreaming about for years opens for him, letting him in. _Finally_ letting him in. His tongue pushes past, tangling with Sam’s. There’s heat pooling in their groins and thriving all over their bodies. Breaths heavy in the air, Dean’s puffing against Sam’s top lip, deepening the kiss with a tilt of his head, grinding hard against Sam’s abs, giving him a show of what he has planned for him.

Sam shudders delightedly, leaning into the ministrations, caressing Dean’s tongue with his own. Dean pulls back at that moment, getting his breath back—slowing his heart rate. He crawls down Sam’s body, settling between his legs.

He pops open Sam’s jeans, tugging the zipper down a second later. Sam shuffles his legs as Dean hastily tears them from his brother, pushing those mile-long legs apart. He mouths the bulge in Sam’s boxers, licking the fabric, smirking when the younger man groans at the feeling.

“Let’s check you out, Sammy,” he teases, gripping the waistband. He pulls them over and away from Sam’s cock. Dean doesn’t say anything. He’s not really one for praising a penis. Sure, it’s fun to torture guys with his mouth, until they’re literally begging for him to fuck them. Just not especially that exciting. Without hesitation, he takes Sam halfway, bobbing his head with keen skill.

Sam’s hips jerk.

His brother’s sucking his cock… And he’s _really_ good.

Dean flattens his hands against Sam’s navel, keeping him firmly in place, not halting in his actions for a moment. He looks up at Sam with his jade green eyes. Sam catches amusement crinkling the corners. It’s hard to look like you’re smiling with a dick in your mouth, so props.

Trying to buck, Sam whines when Dean gives a particularly hard such, simultaneously applying extra pressure to the palms of his hands, preventing Sam from thrusting into the warm heat.

“Fine, but at least take some layers off, Dean,” Sam snaps, irritated. He’s almost completely naked, and Dean’s still fully clothed. Somehow, he can’t see how that’s fair.

Dean lifts his head off Sam’s cock, starting up a staggering hand-job that has Sam’s eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. “Do you really want me to stop what I’m doing and give you a strip tease?” Decisions. Sam’s so sick of decisions.

“I have a better idea.”

Eyebrow raising, Dean observes as Sam scoots back on the bed. He flashes a grin of his own, locating a bottle of lube in one of the draws. The longer he took to do this, the more awkward it’ll seem. So, he’s glad when he finds the enhancer quickly. Flipping the cap, Sam pours a fair amount onto his fingers and slicks them up, running them down his front until they’re near his briefs. He takes a second to slowly and sensually draw his underwear from his legs, keeping his eyes locked on Dean’s penetrative scorching gaze.

Dean’s tongue runs along his bottom lip as Sam’s legs spread wider, exposing his pink, clenching pucker. Sam drags the tips of his fingers to his crack, massaging his entrance with the cool liquid.

“If we’re really going to do this, Dean. Really going _this_ far, I’m not going to let you have all the fun. So just watch for a bit,” he expresses, pushing his index finger through the crack, guiding it past the first tight ring of muscle, enjoying the sensation of the skin sliding along his inner walls. His breathing picks up as he rubs against his prostate, familiar with its whereabouts. He pictures Dean rocking into him, his pace fast and long, taking Sam for all he’s worth.

Dean’s cock rubs against his boxers, driving him wild. He needs to get out of these clothes. Now. Right now. But he doesn’t want to miss a second. Not of this. Not this sight. Sam’s finger sinking into his tight hole… Sam’s breath catching, his cock jumping every time his younger brother finds that spot buried within himself.

Never taking his eyes off the visual, Dean shrugs out of his open shirt, toeing his boots off in the process. He unbuckles his belt unceremoniously, slinging it at the wall. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter right now. He slips out of his jeans carefully, without missing a beat. His socks go next, and finally he disposes of his boxers.

Sam’s heated eyes duck to glimpse Dean’s pulsing cock, the images of those attachments plaguing his mind. The pictures are an undersell. The real thing is _so_ much better. Light veins bulging, head thick, length long and practical—ready to impale him at a moments notice.

He could get used to this.

_Very_ used to this.

He adds a second finger, shoving them in all the way to the third knuckles, stretching himself open while massaging his overly sensitive prostate. He arches into his own ministrations, worrying his bottom lip as he extends the intense eye contact with his older brother.

“God damn, Sam…” Dean breathes, his cock itching to replace those devious fingers, just sink into his Sammy’s body, grind, thrust, penetrate and drive Sam wild with lust and tension, until he’s on the brink of orgasm.

Sam keens, throwing his head back, pressing prominently against his prostate, riding the pleasure, enjoying the moment. It feels like it’s missing something. He knows what it is, but he wants Dean to crack.

Break, utterly.

Just forget everything and _feel._

Dean can’t take it anymore. He grips Sam’s wrist, prying those teasing digits from Sam’s rectum. He forces those powerful legs back until his brother’s knees are rubbing against tight skin.

With a frustrated look on his face, Dean leans down and laps over the lube-soaked hole. He lashes at the sensitive areas, spreading Sam’s entrance, thrusting his tongue inside and wriggling the muscle languidly, relishing the moans spilling from Sam’s kiss-bruised lips.

He doesn’t stay like this for long. Mentally, he can handle teasing his brother for quite some time. Physically, he doesn’t have the patience. He draws back, watching for Sam’s reactions. Snatching the bottle of lube, Dean squirts some onto his hand, rubbing it all over his length.

“Just breathe, Sammy. I can’t wait any longer—uh, promise to go slower next time, ‘kay?” Dean rambles, already cocking Sam’s leg up on his shoulder and pressing the blunt head of his cock against Sam’s entrance. He slides in with a single thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

His eyes do roll to the back of his head. The heat surrounding his member is unbelievable. He’s never felt anything like it. And Sam clenches, tightening the hold he already has, if that’s even possible at this point.

Dean rewards him by bottoming out slowly, before sinking back in, long and deep, shifting his hips in an angle that has Sam’s mouth falling open, releasing a sound that Dean’s interested to hear again. For the rest of his life, even.

This is just the start. He’s learning how his brother ticks sexually. This is a whole new experience for him. As if he were a virgin again… Even if that ship sailed years and years ago, it feels that way. He’s excited and nervous—all of that grit he had earlier hiding away in a corner somewhere.

Dean just wants to enjoy himself and _experience_ the beauty and elegance that is his little brother Sammy.

“D-Dean!” Sam cries, white-knuckling the bedspread. His body quakes as Dean rocks into him with precision that Sam’s never seen before. It’s almost as if the older man knows him inside and out, positioning himself in the perfect way, falling into him and hitting that one spot as if it were meant to be.

Sam’s heart beats loudly in his chest, on par with the sound of the bed frame crashing against the wall. All he can feel, see, think, _breathe_ is Dean. He hasn’t realized it before, but it’s everything he’s ever wanted and _more._

A pleasure so amazing he could only ever dream of such a thing.

Dean continues to work his body like a professional, undulating his hips—grinding into the velvety heat, reacting blissfully to the restrictive walls attempting to swallow his cock, hell bent on milking him for all he’s worth.

His eyes are closed. It feels right. Feels _appropriate._ Sam’s driving him insane, to the point where he’s lost all focus, his concentration solely on pleasing the man beneath him. His hands trail over the sun-kissed flesh, so tentative and experimental, as if Sam were China— _precious,_ something Dean could never let go of, or allow himself to break.

Sam feels every movement. He’s still allowing small sounds of enjoyment to pass his lips, but he can’t seem to bring himself to not be captivated by the look on Dean’s face. The concentration is there, along with the passion that hadn’t been earlier when they started all of this. The attitude he came in with changed exponentially. Now Dean’s listening to his body, moving in all the right ways that send shockwaves of pleasure rippling through him, drowning his core and stimulating his prostate like never before, heightening the sensations to levels unimaginable.

Sam lays back, rests his head against the pillow. Dean inclines forward, nestling his head in the crook of Sam’s shoulder, gripping on for dear life as he pistons his hips, synchronizing with Sam’s body, following his movements like waves.

“Dean, I—“

“Shush…” Dean whispers contently, peppering kisses along Sam’s shoulder, each one holding depth. Something Sam can’t even begin to understand right now, but he appreciates each one.

They stay in that motion for a long while, rocking against each other, Dean’s thrusts escalating as he draws closer to the climax, mouthing Sam’s skin, biting at the flesh, delivering a message to the vessel that he’s staking his claim.

“Dean,” Sam breathes out in a stammered rush of air, arching off the bed at the intensity of Dean’s pride pounding into his prostate. He feels so close. Ready to burst. And he hasn’t even touched himself…

_\--you’re definitely hiding some repressed feelings for being dominated, told what to do, shoved to the ground and pounded until you come all over the floor, without a single stroke to your cock._

AC/DC makes good to that promise. _Dean_ makes good to that promise. The pressure in Sam’s penis becomes overwhelming, and within the next few seconds, he’s bucking, losing the rhythm he had with Dean, releasing harder than ever before, coating both his and Dean’s stomach with his semen.

Dean smirks against Sam’s shoulder, groaning as the heat swallows him completely, draining him, his cock pulsing and twitching vigorously, filling Sam’s channel.

He grunts aloud, riding out the rest of his orgasm, gnawing at the already brilliantly purple mark on Sam’s next to keep himself from crying out at the sensations.

Their breathing is erratic.

The moment is _perfect._

This is _perfect._

They are _perfect._

Screw morals.

When you find that which feels right, go with it and never look back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed it! ;D


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